


porphyra

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x wakatoshi ushijima]Despite the uniform of regality, he wasn’t a King but rather an Ace; and he’d long since stolen the title of your Ace of Hearts.





	1. [i] - byzantium

* * *

 

Ushijima was always warm.

It didn’t matter how cold the day was or how upset you felt. His hugs were stiff and inexperienced, but he was warm, and the comfort of that dissolved all your worries away. You could curl up to him and fall asleep in no time flat, the steady sound of his heartbeat ticking away the time like hands of the clock. It didn’t matter what he was doing or where he was—if you wanted cuddles, he’d give you cuddles. And it didn’t even matter where you wanted to be. He was way bigger and taller and stronger than you, but even the best of us liked the feeling of protection you got from being the little spoon. He fit to your body perfectly no matter where you were. He was in your heart no matter how far you went.

Waiting at school for the Boy’s Volleyball Club to return was like a living Hell. It was hard enough concentrating on your studies when all you could think about was him getting back home safe or how much you missed him. It was all you could do to restrain yourself from calling every night to make sure he’d eaten and was unhurt. _He always pushes himself too far. What if he overdid it again? What if…?_ But a part of love was trust, so you just had to trust that he’d be okay.

Finally, the bell tolled dutifully and you sprinted out of the class, your bag slamming against your hip with the rhythm of your run. Your breath came in short, hot gasps—despite the fact that your boyfriend was a star athlete, you didn’t return the same sentiment—still, you didn’t slow. You flew down four flights of stairs, jogged all the way across campus, not even stopping to pet the horses. Your lungs were left behind in block C and you were practically dragging yourself along on hands and knees when you saw the parking lot come into view. Maroon and white dots were only just unloading the bus. Your heart flipped in your chest delightedly when the tallest one stood, his calm and stolid face betraying no emotion.

“Wakatoshi-kun!” you yelled as best as you could through the hoarse wheezing your pathetic body was putting you through. He blinked and turned to you, his golden eyes widening just a touch with recognition. You finally stopped and leant forwards onto your knees, panting hard for breath. You could hear footsteps coming closer and familiar jibing from his teammates— _“Why aren’t I lucky to have a cute girl like that?”_ and _“God, I’m jealous!”_. The usual. Your heart started flopping even harder in your chest when you saw his black shoes approach you on the tarmac. With a smile you straightened and looked up, the ‘welcome back’ promptly stolen from your mouth with a kiss.

He was a good kisser by instinct. It was no surprise that he’d never really kissed anybody before, but he knew how to touch you in the ways you never knew you wanted to be touched and he could hold you in a way that made you feel whole. His roughened fingers grasped your chin and you rose on your tiptoes to meet him halfway, your hand laid down on his chest, grasping his shirt. His eyelashes fluttered against your cheek until you pulled away to breathe, and even then he kept kissing you, gentle touches on your eyebrows and cheek and nose and chin until you were laughing.

“Did you miss me that much?” you asked with a flushed face. “I saw you on TV. You did really well!”

“Of course,” he mumbled in response, giving you a last kiss on the forehead before allowing you to drop back onto the flats of your feet.

“Of course you missed me, or of course you won?”

He blinked and gave you a rare smile, a cryptic one that immediately made you pout.

“Come on Wakatoshi, you can’t leave me hanging like that!”

“I’ll see you later,” he said dismissively, jerking his head back towards the bus. You sighed quietly with disappointment and nodded.

“I better have an answer from you the next time I see you,” you complained, your temper still flared. His soft expression was fond when he took a step forward, his touch landing on the top of your head.

“I missed _you_ ,” he said in a low voice as not to be overhead, his strong arms coming around and gripping you close so that all you could see was the fabric of his dark shirt. “Are you happy, now?”

The goofy grin came back to your face. He was sickeningly genuine and the honey of his words washed over you in a warm, coddling blanket. Tendou was yelling at Ushijima to hurry up, but he kept holding you anyways.

He was always warm. And this time, you added to the warmth with the love of your own heart.


	2. [ii] - eminence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would just like to stress the importance of consent because yes, it's fun to read sometimes, but hearing a verbal "Yes" is much more important (and will be elaborated on later, so dw!)
> 
> chapter titles are after shades of purple :) thanks for reading!!

He was simultaneously the best and worst cuddler you ever had the (mis)fortune of having.

Although he was practically built like a bear, his added height and strength added to the security of being held. You could fall asleep on him anywhere, curling up to his frame. Whether you were the little spoon or the big spoon didn’t even matter. He was happy with anything as long as he was near you. But, on the other hand, Ushijima was a heavy sleeper, and once he was out he was _out_. That meant he didn’t hear you when you complained about not being able to breathe if he—knock on wood—ever rolled on top of you. Ushijima also took the title of ‘Eagle Ace’ a little too far and his preferred sleeping position as ‘Spread Eagle’, leaving you very little room in the bed and very little blanket to sleep under if he got a little too enthusiastic in his dreams. 

Still, he liked being near you, and that sentiment alone was what counted. But, Ushijima was also like a bear in that he hibernated whenever possible. He stayed up late to watch old games and catch up on the schoolwork he dutifully neglected, and as such, the boy often fell asleep where he went. Whether it was watching TV with you or whenever he was sitting on the bench, his eyes would shut and he’d be gone to the world until somebody could wake him up. If you didn’t keep track of him on the train, he could be halfway to Nagasaki before waking up. You smiled slightly at the memory and started to shift your shoulder.

“Wakatoshi. Wake up, we’re almost there.”

He groaned with a little huff and refused to open his eyes, his heavy head instead shifting so that his face pressed into the curvature of your neck. You’d brought him a pillow and everything, knowing that the bus rides were quite long. But he hadn’t even acknowledged it, plopping his head down on your shoulder and falling asleep before you could even get your things out of your bag. He was a bit high-maintenance in that way. If he wanted something, he got it, and you were powerless to resist.

“Toshi-kun… come on, if you don’t wake up, I’ll get Tendou to sing a song.”

“I’ll do it!” Tendou added faithfully from the seat in front. “Just say the word!” The sound of the other boy’s voice seemed to spur on the severity of the situation and Ushijima raised his head, propping it on your shoulder.

“Do I have to?” he asked in a sleepy voice that about burst your heart into a million pieces. You didn’t think that a boy who was nearly 190 centimetres could be _cute_ , but he never failed to surprise you.

“Yes,” you chided, getting over yourself by focusing on your responsibility. “You have a game to play. I told you to sleep early tonight!”

He sighed and took his head off of you, which had been getting pretty numb. You unbuckled your seatbelt and was about to get up when he wrapped his arms around your hips, yanking you back down into the seats. Pressing you up against the window, he kissed you, missing first and kissing your nose before his lips slid down to meet yours. His arm cradled you carefully and you let your eyes fall shut, caving into submission. 

“Wait!” you blurted out, pushing him away. You scrambled to turn around and saw the rest of the team looking back up at you through the bus window, each having a stupid rendition of kissy faces. Your face grew hot and you gently ushered Ushijima off of you, ducking into the aisle to hide from their eyes. 

“They’re nosy,” Ushijima muttered under his breath bad-temperedly. He sighed and got up from his seat, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling before ducking out of the way. You glared at him from behind your hands as you tried to cool the blush on your face.

“Maybe if you didn’t always insist on having your way—”

“Are you saying I can’t?”

Despite the fact that he was one of the most serious and genuine people you knew, you could not miss the sly smirk on his face.

“That’s it!” you declared, “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“Fine with me. You can't talk when you’re doing this…”

Against the seat he kissed you again, and again, you were too weak to tell him no.


	3. [iii] - heliotrope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ushijima is canonly petty dont tell me otherwise

It was no surprise when you got an influx of attention after being recognized as _the_ Ushijima Wakatoshi’s significant other. It wasn’t as if either of you had gone public with it, but: a) his ‘antics’ did not go unnoticed and b) Tendou Satori was loud. Word exploded out like glitter. It was everywhere and impossible to get rid of.

Surprisingly, most of the people coming up to you weren’t curious or jealous girls. That crowd of people merely congratulated you on your ‘cute’ relationship. The majority of your following, if you could even call it that, became guys.

“So you didn’t fall for him because he’s famous, right?” the latest one asked, clasping his hands together and looking at you seriously. “Because I have this girl that I like and I was wondering if she would like me back, even though I’m not even a regular on the team.”

“Who are you again?” you asked flatly. He ignored the question, pressing onwards as you tried to stack towels in your arms for the team.

“Please, [Surname]-chan! I really need some help!”

“But… why me?” you asked sceptically. “Couldn’t you just ask some other girl if they’d like you? Or better yet, why don’t you just confess to the one you like?”

“I wanted to ask you because you’re dating Ushijima-san.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Just because I’m dating him doesn’t make me special.”

“Well, it kinda does.” The guy you still didn’t remember the name of scratched his head a bit sheepishly. “I just feel like your words has a bit more… weight. After all, you got the guy to fall in love with you. He never showed interest in anybody before you came along.”

“Is that so…” you mused. It sounded like him. As a greyromantic, Ushijima hadn’t been the type to check out any cuties walking past, unless those cuties were volleyball champions. And even then, he’d only ask for their number so that he could contact them about volleyball strategy. 

“So? Can you help me out, [Surname]-chan?” The boy who you assumed was in his second year took half the towels off of your hands, his brown eyes large and pleading. “All I want is to ask you some things about your relationship. Nothing nosy, I swear!”

You sighed disgruntledly but agreed. “Well, fine. I don’t know if I can help, but I can try my best. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you agree to going out with Ushijima-san? Did he do anything special for you?” He bounced on his feet thoughtfully. “I was thinking about asking my crush out to the fireworks… but I want to hear what he did for you.”

“No,” you corrected fondly. “He hit a ball into my face, apologized, and then asked me to go out with him as I was icing my eye.”

“What, you’re serious?! You took one of his serves to the face? What’re you even _made_ of?”

“Hey, Ushijima. [Name]-chan and that second year guy look like they’re really hitting it off. Aren’t you jealous?” Tendou teased the taller male as he jerked his head to the side. Ushijima glanced over, seeing you talking animatedly with the other boy. The boy was laughing with you at something, and even went so far as to ruffle your hair. Ushijima looked away and shrugged.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Well, what if he’s making moves on her? Wouldn’t that make you mad?”

“I’d be…” Ushijima struggled to find the word for the emotion. “…annoyed. But I trust her, so it’s not a big concern of mine.”

“Man! You two are so sickeningly sweet! It kind of disgusts me.” Tendou harrumphed exaggeratedly before returning to the back of the line. Ushijima put his foot on the line and nodded to Shirabu, who was setting for his side of the court. Ushijima took his approach and…

“Holy shit!” the boy shrieked in a shockingly high voice as a ball whizzed past his head, slamming into the wall and ricocheting off at the same deathly speed. The boy cowered as the ball rolled back, having had enough momentum to bounce across the gym multiple times. You jumped a bit and turned, seeing your boyfriend land on soft feet. He blinked at you before raising his hand.

“Sorry,” he lied, cocking his head.

“So much for trust,” Tendou laughed at the end of the day, hands behind his head as Ushijima took down the nets (as part of his punishment for spiking out of line). Ushijima merely shrugged.

“I trust _her_. I was merely annoyed at the other one. My hand… slipped.”

“Sure it did.”


	4. [iv] - iris

“You should have stayed home.”

“Yeah, yeah…” you struggled to breathe in past the totally blocked nose, plopping your head down on his broad shoulder as he carried you down to the nurse’s office. “That’s what you’ve been tellin’ me…”

“I’m serious.” He stopped in the middle of the hall suddenly, still deserted as classes commenced, and craned his head back to look at you. You squinted at him blearily through teary, feverish eyes as he continued to reprimand you. “You’re in no shape to be at school. I don’t know why you even left your room in the first place.”

“I have to pass calculus,” you complained. “You _know_ our teacher’s impossible. I can’t miss a day or I’m screwed.”

“I could’ve brought you your homework and gotten somebody to help you catch up.” He huffed and started walking forwards again. His arms were tense under your legs. Although you felt bad for upsetting him, you were also a little irritated that he wasn’t seeing things your way. You’d made your way into Shiratorizawa neither by money nor athleticism but by the blood of paper cuts and tears of studying late nights. You could easily be shipped off to a public school if you didn’t exceed what was expected of you, and right now, your average was wobbling dangerously close to the edge. If you got kicked out of Shiratorizawa, it meant that you’d no longer get to see Ushijima every day, and the thought made your stomach churn with panic. 

“You’re busy,” you countered hotly, speaking into his shirt as you were too tired to lift your head. “The season is going to peak soon… I know you can’t put aside time for me.”

He slowed again, jerking to a sudden full stop. You peeked up in time to see him take a sudden sharp detour towards a stairwell, which was strange, since you were already on the floor of the nurse’s office. “Wakatosh—?” you started, but he deposited you more roughly than you thought he would onto the last stair. You caught yourself by holding onto the cold railway and looked up just as he started to yell.

“Who do you think I _am_?!”

Not once in the years that you had known him had you heard him raise his voice, and now it was like seeing a slumbering giant being prodded with a stick. His golden eyes blazed with fury and his large hands trembled. He scowled and turned away from you, running a hand through dark multi-toned hair as he muttered, his voice echoing in the empty staircase. 

“Do you think… that I’d really prioritize a sport over _you_? Is that who you think I am?”

Guilt washed over you and made your vision swam, made your head sticky and dizzy. Your body was always leaky when you were sick, dripping snot and sweat and tears, and the hot droplets welled in your eyes before pooling over. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized in a hoarse whisper. “No, that’s not what I meant… I just can’t think straight…”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered right after. “I shouldn’t have yelled.” He sat next to you and reached out with his large thumbs to brush away your tears, but you batted his hand away, shaking your head.

“I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I don’t _care_.” Gently, his hands worked into your hair, smoothing out the knots and tangles you had ignored in your attempt to crawl out of your room to make it to class in this death-like state. You started crying harder, your emotions thrown astray by the fever overriding your brain. How had you found somebody so overwhelmingly kind, so patient…? How had you had the idiocy to break that patience?

“Here,” he said suddenly, pulling a small pack of mini tissues from his pocket. They looked so small in his hand that it was almost comical, but you took them anyways, blowing your nose and wiping your eyes.

“You’re important to me,” he said as you did so, his voice so low that you almost didn’t hear him. “And I care about you. I don’t want to see you like this.”

“Me neither,” you huffed into the Kleenex. “Now that I’m sick, I’m definitely going to flunk—”

“No. You’re not getting it,” he said forcefully, abandoning his calm tone for the second time in a long time. “You need to prioritize yourself over school. Classes aren’t as important as your health. You’re hurting me when you hurt yourself.”

“Okay,” you agreed at last, deflating at his final comment. You shoved the tissue into your pocket and was defeated with a final sniffle. “Fine.”

“I’m going to take you to the nurse’s office,” he lectured sternly, picking you back up easily and shuffling you to a comfortable position on his back. As he walked, he continued, talking more than you’d heard him in forever. He was practically Tendou at this rate. “And then you’re going to go to your room and stay there until you get better. Don’t forget to have hot tea and honey and soup. And ask the nurse for vitamin supplements to ease the symptoms.”

“What are you, my mother?” you joked feebly.

“I learnt a lot from my grandmother about colds,” he explained innocently. “And no, I’m not your mother. I thought I was your boyfriend.”

The sudden admittance of affection about shocked you into cardiac arrest. Ushijima didn’t like to talk a lot and he was hardly ever verbal about his feelings for you, speaking with actions instead. And although you never minded, it was nice to hear it reaffirmed. You buried your head into his shirt again, a faint smile on your lips.

“Okay. But you have to promise me that you’ll talk to Reon to tutor me when I get back before the midterm. Maybe even Kenjirou-kun… he’s smart for a s…second year…”

“Just rest.”

You couldn’t help but fall asleep, comforted by his warmth on your stomach. Later, you came to in a daze, his uniform jacket slung over you as a make-shift blanket. You clung to it. His low, soothing tone sounded distant and you recognized the female adult’s voice as one of the school nurses. Footsteps came to your bedside and Ushijima’s forehead abruptly pressed to yours without warning. Your eyelids shot open, your exhaustion completely forgotten. He stared down at you openly and your breath hitched with the close contact—he pulled away before you could say anything and sighed through his nose.

“Please head back to class, Ushijima-kun. We’ll take care of her from here.”

“Yes.” He nodded and the nurse smiled knowingly, disappearing behind a curtain again. Ushijima looked back at you and lowered his head, but you hastily moved your hand over your mouth to block him.

“You’ll get sick!” you chided, your voice muffled under your palm. “Just go back to class already.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted once more, his strength no match for you as he pinned away the hand and kissed you. He was a big believer in ‘kissing boo-boos’ and maybe that was why you got so many. And maybe it was his crazy sports diet and constant maintenance of health, but he _didn’t_ get sick, something he used to his advantage to kiss you over and over again.


	5. [v] - lavender

He was a haptic learner. He learnt through touch, not by listening to a professor drone or a coach screech. Notes were useless to him too, getting smeared to all hell because of his left-handedness, and often times he wouldn’t even pay attention unless the conversation veered towards volleyball. Nothing stuck in his brain unless he could _feel_ it. He could only learn if he could actually connect with it.

That was how he knew you best. Of course he knew your personality, your smile, and of course he loved those things like he loved nothing else. But he loved the way you felt under his fingers best. It was more intimate, more personal. In a way it felt like you had shown him something you didn’t show others, and it made him secretly proud that you had trusted him enough with your secrets.

He knew the texture of your face, the little peach fuzz of hairs on your round cheeks. He knew the hairs over your upper lip—nobody was as perfect as the glamorous models of the world—and he knew the little bumps and ridges of acne along your temple and forehead. He knew the oiliness of your skin and the dry patches, but he didn’t care, because it was your face. It was beautiful and he loved it.

He knew the size of your every thing. You weren’t very athletic but he could feel each muscle definition all the same, your bicep firm on him when you clutched his arm. Your calves were sleek but your thighs were soft, something you always complained about that made no sense to him. Why would he want to rest his head against something hard or bony? Your body was yours and it was his, and he loved it.

He knew the pattern of your skin. You had stretch marks on your knees and hips, pale lines against flesh that looked like brush strokes on a blank canvas. There were little red bumps on your knees and even a splash of freckles on your stomach—if he wanted, he could count them. Your skin was softest at your breasts and roughest at your hands. If he ran his fingers along the length of your arm you’d get goosebumps, the tiny ridges meeting his fingertips. You had a scar on the small of your back when you’d stood up awkwardly as a child, cutting into a faucet. You had miniature scars everywhere. Each was different. Each had something to do with how it shaped you. It was the tell of your story through life and he loved it.

He knew the feeling of your bones and blood. In your tiny hands he could feel each knuckle, each metacarpal, each tendon slide under the skin. Your radius protruded less than the average person’s. If he played around at your ankle he could feel muscles and tendon twitch together like clockwork in a watch. Your pelvis was sharp and he could trace the curve of it easily. Your ribs sometimes showed if you inhaled really deep, and he could feel each dip like a miniature mountain range under your chest. Whenever you had pains he could roll out the knot, feeling it click and slide under his touch and under your skin. On your neck he could feel your pulse best, always fast if he touched you there. It was slower on your wrists, his fingers dipping into the vein under your thumb. It was reassuring to feel it. It was at a tempo faster than his but it was there, and sometimes his own heart would race to join yours. It was what made you; the definition of your life; and he loved it.

And he knew the path of your entire body. It took him a while to learn, each time moving a step further. That was fine. Not everything had to be taken fast. 

His fingers splayed across the length of your back tonight, his warm fingers pressing deep onto each vertebra. The ridges jutted out as you curled your back to him, your face butting against his chest. Your breath was warm against his neck. His hand moved down your shirt, away from your shoulders and scapulae to your lower back. Suddenly a small moan escaped you and you jumped, his hand pausing right at the tendon that joined your lower back muscles to your spine. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured, worried that he had hurt you. You nodded.

“I’m not hurt…”

When he ran his hand along your lower back again you shifted, seemingly uncomfortable, your grip tightening around his neck and drawing him close. No words were exchanged but he recognized your movements. He knew that from you. His four fingers, with his touch so gentle he could barely feel the warmth of your skin, ran up the column of your lumbar. He knew that if he teased you here, just a little more—

“Mmngh,” you gasped suddenly, “Wakatoshi…!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your hands move away from their locked position behind his neck and up into his hair, a shudder traversing down his own spine as he felt your fingers curl around locks of hair. Each slight pull lit a tingling fire underneath his navel. You breathed a whisper, hands slipping away from his hair to his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

“You can keep going.”

He knew you. You knew him. He was learning you. And he loved you.


	6. [vi] - lilac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holiday season 2016 everybody.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” You looked up curiously as he came to sit beside you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate. You accepted it graciously with a smile, taking a sip.

“My family is…” He struggled to think of a way to put it politely but gave up quickly. “Nosy. So sorry.”

“Oh, that? It’s nothing. Just wait ‘till you meet _my_ family. They’ll probably ask you your blood type.”

“It’s O positive.”

You snorted a bit, laughing up a bit of the chocolate. He reached over and brushed a patch of marshmallow fluff off the top of your lip.

“Why’re you laughing?”

“Nothing… they’ll love you.” You smiled at him and looked back out over the balcony where he had spent his many childhood days lounging around. Christmas break meant that there was no longer any excuse to keep you from his family. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide you, but he was trying to shelter you from the onslaught of questions and the endless demands from his younger relatives. Still, it was a relief that they took an instant affinity to you, but they also bombarded you with their affection, demanding that you ‘eat some of this!’ or ‘come play with me!’ The Ushijima family was large and expansive, and even cousins twice removed were around, complimenting you on managing to get ‘Waka-chan’ to open up. He was sitting a ways behind you and was able to observe your slumped back, the comfortable way you sat as you held onto the mug with both hands.

“You don’t like getting Christmas gifts, right?” you asked suddenly, turning back to look at him. He shrugged.

“I don’t like gifts in general.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe… it’s the obligation. But I already feel as if I have everything. Oh. If they could give me more accuracy to my serves—”

“I don’t think you can buy that off of Amazon,” you said with a smirk. He shrugged.

“That’s why I don’t like gifts. I already have everything I want.”

“Well, I still have a gift for you.” 

He sighed through his nose as you said it. “I already told you, I don’t—”

“Shh.” You rarely cut him off, probably because he spoke so little in the first place. You set the mug down and scooted to him, the blanket over your shoulders shifting upwards to cover him like a make-shift tent. He still hadn’t figured out what was happening before you delivered a sugary kiss, your gentle tongue grazing across his bottom lip sweetly.

“Merry Christmas, Wakatoshi.” Your breath smelled of peppermints.

“I didn’t mind that gift,” he muttered honestly. He leant forwards, seeking your face in the darkness of the blanket tent when it was suddenly whipped away. You jumped and he looked back urgently, seeing one of his younger cousins grinning toothlessly.

“What’s this? Are we building forts, Toshi-nii?”

“Aki,” he grumbled, but reverted his tone to one of patience. “Do you want to build a fort?”

“Only if it’s with [Name]-nii!” he declared proudly, dropping the blanket and marching to you. The six year old clung to your arm, pressing his face to yours. “Because I’m going to marry [Name]-nii when I get older!”

Was he really getting jealous over a six year old? Ushijima refused to admit it to himself. You laughed gently, allowing Aki to tug you to your feet and lead you back to the party in the living room. You shot Ushijima a conspiratorial wink, one that said _you know the truth_.

The taste of your Christmas gift was still on his lips, and he decided that he could forgive Aki—just this once—in the name of holiday spirit. He got up and followed after, a rare smile on his face.


	7. [vii] - magenta

“It was really weird!” Tendou ranted to you as the both of you walked down the hall together. “I haven’t ever seen him smile before, you know?”

“You haven’t?” you asked curiously. He seemed taken aback by your genuine tone and his large eyes narrowed.

“Does… he smile a lot around _you_?”

The fellow first-year seemed oddly concerned as you nodded innocently. He even stopped dead in the hallway, forcing you to turn around and grab his arm to start dragging him forwards so he wouldn’t block traffic.

“That’s crazy!” Tendou cried. “I mean, he’s known you as long as he’s known me, right?”

“No,” you replied straightforwardly, almost a little guiltily. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“You’re kidding me!” Tendou screeched again, even tearing at his red hair. “God, are you saying that _you’re_ his best friend and I’m not?! Has this all been a lie?”

“Well, no. He likes you enough,” you tried to reassure. Tendou had none of it.

“You two are really hard to figure out, y’know? I thought Wakatoshi was an open book, but turns out, I don’t know the next thing about him. And _you’re_ the same way!” Tendou shook his finger at you accusatively. The fact that he was so surprised by Ushijima’s smile made you think back. Sure, he had a stolid face, but he had never scowled for long whenever _you_ were around, at least. He was never in a bad mood, per say. He just had a pretty severe case of RBF. You’d gotten good at reading his shifts in mood, in either case, and when he didn’t want to talk you were able to figure out what he was thinking.

Tendou was still muttering under his breath as he stomped along. “Childhood friends… What’s next? You two are _dating_? Hah.”

“Uh…”

Tendou whirled on you. “You _are_?!” he screamed, so loudly that you had to make hasty shushing noises and apologize to the surrounding group of startled classmates. Tendou lowered his voice into a low hiss, crouching down so that he could whisper-yell right at you. “And he never told me, his best pal?! What the hell!”

“He must’ve forgotten to,” you said apologetically with a shrug. 

“For how long? Since when? How did he ask you out?”

You sighed through your noise and waved him off. “Go ask him yourself instead. I have to get to class.”

“Ah—[Name]-chan, don’t you dare turn your back on me! You turned your back on me! I can’t believe you!” His distraught rambling grew quieter as you entered your classroom, slipping into your desk. 

Later in the afternoon when the lunch bell tolled, you stood and saw the familiar figure standing patiently in the hall. He towered over people and it was easy to spy his expression, even with the fourty-strong people trying to rush through the doorway. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Deciding that you wouldn’t take it for granted, you smiled back proudly, wrapping yourself around his arm after walking up to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, surprised by the sudden display of public affection. You nodded.

“Yeah.”

A distance away, Tendou was spying, gesturing wildly to fellow teammate Semi Eita.

“They _are_ dating!” Semi gasped, gesturing wildly to fellow teammate Ohira Reon. Reon scowled and smacked the two across the heads, ignoring their complaints as he too was bewildered by the sight.


	8. [viii] - mulberry

Japanese wasn’t your first language. Immigrating to the country had been hard enough as it was, leaving friends and familiarity behind. The foreign East was as much of a culture shock as you could’ve gotten and the language—no way in hell could you read any of the weird pictures or understand what they were trying to say to you. Maybe it was a bit of stubborn denial, too, that prevented you from giving your best effort to learning. No matter the reason, you didn’t understand, and nobody understood you. So you practically became a mute.

Still, somebody _did_ seem to understand. 

He knocked on your desk and you jerked to alertness, looking up at him. His severely neat haircut and crisp uniform made you self-conscious of your own frazzled appearance. You’d stopped caring about how you looked when you realized nobody would even care about the poor foreign girl, anyways.

He said something and you stared. He blinked twice, his gaze flicking up as he thought about something. Then he brought out what looked to be his lunch, tapping on it twice and cocking his head to the side. You stared, before shaking your head. No, you didn’t have a lunch. You just never bothered to take it from the kitchen table, too apathetic to care about eating. He nodded and unwrapped the small box, before passing it to you. You took it by instinct before blinking, looking down and bashfully pushing it back towards him. You shook your head. It’d be rude of you to take his lunch.

He shook his head right back at you, taking a hand and pushing the box back towards you gently. You pouted, but couldn’t deny that the packed rice and perfectly cut vegetables weren’t appealing. Your stomach growled quietly and you felt heat rise up your neck.

“Um… thank you,” you said quietly in your native language. His brow furrowed with confusion, which was a given. However, you didn’t have enough time to feel sorry for yourself before he realized something.

“Arigatou,” he said. He took out his notebook and wrote something out, pointing to the first character. His pencil dragged a faint ghostly line across the word as he read it to you slowly. “A…ri…ga…tou.”

“Arigatou,” you repeated meekly. A faint smile came across his face and he nodded.

He got a lot of weird looks after that. You weren’t sure of why, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. Because of his sudden interest in you, you decided that it was time to put in a bit more work to learning the language, attending supplementary Japanese Second Language classes and spending time with Ushijima Wakatoshi, as you learnt his name was. He didn’t talk a lot, and when he did, you understood him better by his body language than the words that came out of his mouth. In no time at all you were catching onto the language and the slang, and you could actually participate in conversations without having an anxiety attack.

“It was really weird when Ushijima-kun started talking to you. He never talked to anybody else that much.”

“Really?” you asked, cocking your head to the side. “He seemed friendly enough, though.”

“We all thought he just hated everybody, but he must really like you!”

Although you would sometimes forget a word or start slipping into your first language halfway through a story, fluency came easy, and your friendship with Ushijima was solidified through mutually appreciated silence. It wasn’t many years later until you came up to him.

“Hey, Wakatoshi. Can I ask you how to read something?”

“Of course.” He never minded reading kanji out for you, knowing it was difficult to learn. You beamed and held a slip of paper out to him. It wasn’t anything much, only a few characters that seemed overly simple. They were handwritten, too, pencil strokes lining the blank note.

“It says… ‘daisuke’.” His brow furrowed with confusion and a hard pang of jealousy hit him. Where did you get this? Was somebody actually _confessing_ to you? It didn’t surprise him in the slightest but his mind started to wheel, thinking of possible candidates for the author of this note. You clasped your hands behind your back and bounced on your heels, drawing him out of his frantic thinking. 

“Which means…?” you prompted. 

He had half a mind to lie to you and crumple up the note by ‘accident’, but sighed grudgingly. It wasn’t his place to interfere with your feelings… the least he could do was tell the truth. In a low mutter, he said spitefully,

“…it means ‘I like you’.”

“Great! You can keep that, Wakatoshi. From me to you.” You winked at him before walking off, leaving him staring after you. 

It didn’t take much for him to understand.


	9. [ix] - orchid

Ushijima hadn’t really been afraid of anything. It wasn’t as if he were some all-powerful superhuman guy, and he wasn’t bragging about it, but anything that did scare him was something he was able to get over sooner or later. 

Except for the feeling of being closed in.

He’d never really been in a small space for long. His dorm room was quite big and he never had to take transit after living on campus, so he was able to avoid the infamous Japanese trains and busses. He liked to avoid elevators when he could. Stairs were better cardio and he didn’t have to stand in that awkward silent limbo with people. Even his childhood home was fairly expansive. What he liked was space. He was used to big gymnasiums. Wide, expansive spaces where he could hear the ball echo around him twice—even three times if it were empty. Places where he could breathe.

So it felt like he was being suffocated.

“Wakatoshi? Wakatoshi, it’ll be okay.”

Your voice seemed too distant and he squinted, his head spinning. It was one thing to be in an elevator and another to be in a _broken_ elevator, one that had stopped. He felt as if it were going to fall at any second. He felt as if the heartless chrome walls would kill him. They were definitely getting closer together. He backed himself into a corner and his legs gave, sliding him down to the floor as he clutched his head. God, if he opened his eyes, would the walls be even closer?

“Toshi-kun? Wakatoshi, hey. Listen to me. It’ll be okay.”

Each syllable of yours seemed to slow his racing heartbeat and he listened, not moving, afraid to look at the walls. Your hand laid itself on his knees and you nestled forwards, forcing his arms aside so that you could press your forehead to his. He hesitantly opened his eyes and looked directly at you as you were closing your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering.

“We will be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“How do you know that?” he croaked out, hating the sound of his own pathetic voice. All he had wanted to be was the source of strength and now he was leaning on you, needing you to pull him out of this drowning state…

“I just _know_ it’s going to be okay. They’re going to fix it, and then we’ll be out of here in no time.” You opened your eyes and smiled at him. His breathing seemed to even out and his lungs felt less small. The walls looked a little farther apart behind you. Resolutely, you repeated, “we’re going to be okay.”

He abruptly yanked you closer to his chest, your body the only thing he wanted to have close in on him. He wanted your warmth because it made everything feel like an open space, like a field in summer. He pressed his face into your shoulder like a child that didn’t want to look. This would be his one-time excuse for being weak.

“We’ll be okay,” you murmured. This time, he believed you.


	10. [x] - mauve

“Wakatoshi…”

He seemed surprised to see you and looked up over his shoulder as you stumbled towards him, arms outstretched like a cheap dollar-store zombie. Your arms slung heavily around his neck as your eyelids fell shut again, your face pressed against the side of his.

“What are you doing up? You should be asleep.”

“Could say the same to you. It’s late. You need to come to bed.”

He had a habit of staying up to re-watch old games. The watch on your wrist told you it was something like two in the morning, and you didn’t like rolling over to an empty bed.

“I’ll be there in a minute. Go back to sleep.”

“Bed’s cold. Don’t wanna.”

“Is it? Take my jacket.” He was too sincere to read between the lines and you shook your head, your hair tangling up in front of your face. He sighed with defeat, realising that you weren’t going anywhere. One hand laid itself on your back and the other scooped beneath your legs at the knees, lifting you up easily. Your eyes fluttered open and you squinted in the dim blue light of his receding laptop as he carried you away, back to the bedroom. His warmth was comforting but you fought the urge to sleep for just a little more.

He laid you back into the mattress crease, attempting to reach for the blanket to tuck over you, and was unable to because of your interlocked arms. He sighed again, but a hint of amusement might’ve been present. You tightened your weak hold on him, hands locking behind his head.

“Bed’s cold without you, Toshi…”

“You’re impossible,” he chided quietly. He sighed with defeat before rolling, settling into his usual place beside you. You smiled to yourself with eyes closed, your hands moving in front of you to grip the front of his shirt.

“‘s why you like me.”

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“No,” you groaned. “You need… to get rest.”

“I will. Just sleep.” His simple syllables were easy to absorb and the teasing vestiges of sleep tugged on you, snickering at you from afar as your fingers tightened around his shirt.

“Promise me you’ll come to bed soon,” you mumbled, disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t get him to sleep at a proper time. A large, gentle hand landed on your forehead, smoothing stray hairs out of your face. His fingers combed through gently, each passing motion bringing you closer to unconsciousness like the waves of a rippling lake to pebbly shore.

“Yeah. So sleep, already.”

After you were finally silent, Ushijima decided that it wasn’t that important to get back to his computer after all. He nestled your head closer to his chest and caged his arms around you in a protective fashion, his eyes falling shut to the sound of your lazy breathing. The bed was warmer with two and he slept easy.


	11. [xi] - mulberry

He wasn’t the tallest person in the world, no, but he was definitely tall enough. Coupled with an absent-minded personality, Ushijima was often prone to the very understandable ordeal of hitting his head on things. Once or twice might’ve been forgivable, but Ushijima Hitting His Head On Things became a sort of natural phenomenon that people crowded around to watch. People claimed that hearing the sound of his skull slamming into things would bring good luck. It got to the point where he quite literally showed up to class with a curtain draped over his head because it had gotten stuck to him on his way into the school. 

“I have a headache,” he’d muse with mild confusion, with a train door shaped bruise tattooed across his forehead.

“No really?” everybody else would reply. Some even took bets on how many times Ushijima would hit his head that day. The record was at nineteen.

So, you had to take it upon yourself to watch out for him—or, as you began to see it, ‘watch up’. 

“Duck, honey.”

“What?”

You jerked down on his hand before he could nail himself on a low hanging banner that was advertising pork ramen. He blinked with confusion as you smiled wearily, sighing through your nose.

“Nothing,” you dismissed. His eyelashes fluttered again.

“I thought you meant this.”

He lowered his head and kissed you softly atop your forehead. Startled, you whipped your head around to gape at him, unaccustomed to the public display of affection. You were about to ask if he was feeling all right when he jerked you harshly into him, practically dragging you along as you stumbled from the strong pull.

“Watch where you’re going,” he reprimanded gently, clearing you from the pole you were about to ram into. You couldn’t help a small laugh, tightening your hand around his.

“Duck.”

He didn’t hear you, apparently, and clipped the top of his head on a low-hanging sign. You sighed. The new record was twenty.


	12. [xii] - periwinkle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been brought to my attention that the line “Wakatoshi, it sounds like you’re in love with Kenjirou-chan. That’s kinda nasty.” can be taken as hostile towards gay men. I can assure you that it was not written with that intention. Tendou is taking on a teasing tone. Shirabu has an internal monologue of telling other people to 'eat shit', so I doubt a playful jab of 'wow somebody wants to date you?!' from a close teammate would be taken offensively. Tendou is merely saying that it's 'nasty' to think about being in love with a bad-tempered underclassmen. A softer word I could have used would be 'weird', granted. But it was never meant to be about sexuality. 
> 
> If it were supposed to be homophobic, I would've had Ushijima react negatively. His neutral statement should have made it pretty clear that it had nothing to do with gender, but rather his pre-existing relationship with the reader.
> 
> Please excuse the misunderstanding.

“I can’t believe _you_ of all people got detention, Wakatoshi.” Tendou whistled with admiration as Ushijima tapped his papers together, putting them in his bag. Tendou rocked back and forth in his chair, grinning as he chewed on a stick of gum. The taller boy merely raised an eyebrow.

“Is it that surprising to you?”

“Well, yeah! You’re so anal about everything that I thought for _sure_ you’d be all goody-two-shoes. I mean, the teacher always scolds me for sleeping in class, but I’ve never gotten a detention slip.”

“Goody-two-shoes… hm. Perhaps you’re thinking of Shirabu. He’s a good studier and does well in all of his classes. He’s good-mannered for a kouhai, too.” Ushijima nodded approvingly as Tendou scowled. 

“Wakatoshi, it sounds like you’re in love with Kenjirou-chan. That’s kinda nasty.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Ushijima replied innocently, “I’m in love with—”

“Enough!” Tendou shouted dramatically, standing up stick straight. He clapped Ushijima on the shoulder forcefully, though the blow did nothing to the giant. “No need to hear about your happy sappy love life! I’m out. Good luck making up for it with the coach, eh?”

Ushijima sighed with the prospects of make-up practice ahead of him but nodded farewell. Tendou was a foot outside the door before turning back around.

“Oh yeah. You never told be what you got detention _for_.”

“I didn’t?” Ushijima asked. He shrugged. “In my opinion, I don’t think I deserve punishment for it, but it’s the teacher’s discretion.”

“What’d you do?” Tendou asked, drawn back by his own curiosity. “Did you flunk a test?”

“No. I’m passing my courses fine.”

“Cheat? Did you cheat?”

Ushijima’s nose twitched with derision and Tendou nodded.

“No, you of all people would never cheat. Did you break something? Like, in all the shoujou mangas?”

“I didn’t break anything or vandalize property, no.”

“So what’d you do? Tell me, damnit!”

“Wakastosh—oh, Satori-kun? Shouldn’t you be getting to practice?”

Tendou and Ushijima turned to the door where you stood, your bookbag slung over a shoulder. Tendou sighed loudly, letting go of Ushijima’s collar, where he’d been trying to physically shake the answers out.

“[Name]-chan,” Tendou whined. “Wakatoshi won’t tell me what he’s in detention for. But y;know, you’re such a cute girlfriend, coming to pick him up even though he’s going to be stuck here… man, I’m jealous.”

“I’m not here to pick him up,” you replied, sounding surprised. “I’m also in detention.”

“What?!” Tendou screeched, a fuse nearly shattering inside of his head. “ _You_?! What? Why!? _How_?” His eyes darted from you to Ushijima wildly, gears grinding in the poor kid’s brain.

“You’ll be late for practice, Tendou,” Ushijima said, the amusement lining each syllable. “You’d best hurry.”

Tendou, knowing that questioning Ushijima was a dead end, quickly turned to you. He clasped his hands together in prayer and got to his knees, bowing so that his forehead slammed against the ground.

“Please, [Name]-sama! For a poor peasant like me—”

“—peasant?” you whispered to Ushijima, who merely shrugged as a way to tell you to play along.

“—[Name]-sama, I beg of you, gift me with the honour of the truth!”

“All right then,” you said with a laugh. “Wakatoshi got caught kissing me.”

Tendou raised his head, dirt stamped across his forehead. His eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

“What?”

You were blushing lightly now and hid your face behind your sleeve at the memory. “I mean, it wasn’t even my fault…”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Ushijima said bluntly, which was what he had told the teacher who caught the two of you in the stairwell. “She’s too beautiful.”

“Wakatoshi!” you yelped, turning an even brighter shade of red. “Stop that…”

“What? Telling the truth?”

“This is disgusting!” Tendou howled, springing up from the ground. “You two are just _gross_ , with your… ugh, with your _happiness_. I’m heading to practice. I hope the coach makes you do a hundred diving receives!” With the last teary insult, the beloved red head stormed off, grumbling to himself with his hands stowed deep into his pockets. You couldn’t help another gentle laugh, setting your bag down on a nearby desk and coming to Ushijima’s.

“Teacher’s not here yet?” you asked, leaning on edge. He shook his head.

“Wonder if he’ll make us clean…” you mused, sighing. Ushijima took a cursory glance to the door before taking your wrist, pulling you down. 

“I’d be fine with that,” he breathed as your eyelashes fluttered against his skin, “as long as you’re with me.”

“If you kiss me again, the teacher will probably put us into detention _twice_ …”

“I’d be fine with that.”

“Seriously?!” Tendou screamed the very next day, “you got put into detention _again_?!”


	13. [xiii] - plum

You really hadn’t meant to, but somehow, you and Ushijima were taking turns to soothe a sobbing child between your arms. 

“He must be a tourist. He doesn’t speak Japanese,” you whispered urgently, awkwardly bouncing the little boy in your arms. He’d somehow wandered over to you in the grocery store, clung to your leg, and now he wouldn’t let go. Your attempts to put him down only served to make him cry harder, and you felt like you had been thrust into a situation you were wholly unprepared for.

“We should try and find his parents. Should we head to customer service and ask to use the intercom?” you continued frantically, trying to speak over the wailing. You gave the boy a hasty, sympathetic look as he writhed. “Sorry kid. But at least you’re not crying over exams, or taxes, or—”

“Give him to me.”

“What?”

Not wanting to repeat himself, Ushijima crouched silently, reached, and grasped the boy in his strong arms. You couldn’t help the seed of panic rooting in your gut when the weight lifted from your arms. Ushijima wasn’t known for being delicate—the 122 km/h spikes he served in volleyball were self-explanatory—and you had a sudden vision of him spiking the toddler into the sun. 

“Wakatosh—!”

“You’re a man, aren’t you? It’s okay to cry, but it’s time to be strong. Breathe in. You’ll find your parents soon.”

The sight of him speaking so fluently to the child when he was always so tongue-tied around other people was like seeing… well, something as unlikely as Ushijima being so easygoing with a stranger. Even if that stranger didn’t even come up to his hip. The boy continued to squirm, but Ushijima held him steady, looking stern but sounding soft all the same.

“You’ll be okay. Breathe, now.”

The boy blinked, whimpering, but to your immense surprised he listened. The boy took deep breaths, whining still, but was blissfully quiet.

“How did you do that?” you asked, amazed. Ushijima looked mildly surprised at the question.

“I didn’t cry a lot as a kid, but my cousins do. I got used to getting them to settle down.”

You suppressed a smile and patted his arm. “Come on. Let’s go to customer service.”

Only a few minutes after the PA went out, a pair of teary-eyed parents came barrelling down the aisle. The child yelped with glee and Ushijima let him down carefully, allowing the boy to waddle over to his parents. Your heart glowed with warmth as the two parents hugged their child together, crying with relief.

You didn’t quite get what they were saying, but you assumed it was ‘thank you’. You waved goodbye to the boy, who was all smiles. After seeing the family off, Ushijima sighed, looking down to you, as if nothing had happened at all.

“What was it we needed? Carrots?”

“Wakatoshi, you’re such husband material.” You slung your arm around the one not holding the shopping basket and walked back into the store. “Even if your kids turn out to be as crazy as Tendou, I feel like you’d be able to handle it.”

“Our.”

“What?” you asked, not sure if you misheard him. He looked down at you again, the miniature basket in his hands looking so domestic that you nearly laughed at the mere sight.

“You keep saying ‘my’ kids. I’m saying ‘our’.”

“U-Ushijima Wakatoshi!” you scolded, so flustered that you channelled the sudden embarrassment by hitting him. He didn’t even react, smiling vaguely as you covered your reddening face. “You can’t just say things like that in public—!”

He was no fortune teller. That much was for sure… but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a damn good guesser to the future.


	14. [xiv] - violet

It never really happened, but when it did, it came like a torrential thunderstorm with no refuge in sight. You didn’t remember what had happened to start this fight. There were words, then there was escalation, and suddenly there was a forest burning and there was nothing to put it out with. It’d ended with you in tears and strung up, cold silence. Everything felt like it was dangling by a fast-fraying thread, and you didn’t know if he’d be there to catch you when things broke.

Avoiding him was the easy part. Trying to keep yourself away from him was hard. Every part of you felt as if something was missing or wrong without him by your side. You’d start, always feeling that you’d forgotten something. You’d keep looking to your side to find him. But he wasn’t there.

Every part of you wanted to give up and wave your white flag just to see him again. But that stubbornness he seemed to love about you—at least, when he’d said he loved you—held fast, and you grit your teeth, keeping your eyes turned forwards to the blackboard while your mind wandered to find him. 

Only you hadn’t anticipated that this game would have two players. You didn’t see him at all. It was as if he’d actively forgotten about you; you wouldn’t be surprised if he had, what with the way his mind narrowed during game time. The only glimpse you had of him all week was when you’d accidentally crossed paths in a busy hallway during transfer classes, and he hadn’t even seen you—if he had, he hadn’t _seen_ you, and kept quiet. Your phone was dead. At one point you were tempted to ask if he was asking about you, but you had a worthless thing called pride that kept you shut up in your own misery pool.

Tendou and the others were put into an awkward position of choosing sides and tried to play the middleman. Despite his coercions of bribery to get you to come to practices, you refused. You also restrained yourself from asking any questions about him, but you kept worrying; was he eating well? Drinking enough water? Sleeping on time? Keeping on top of his studies? You hadn’t realized that you’d worried after him so much until you were actively trying not to. 

“I still think you should just talk to him. Relationships are built on communication, aren’t they?” Tendou prodded, whispering to you in class. You were in Class 2 with him, thankfully separated from Ushijima, who was Class 3. Tendou took this opportunity to harass you and you groaned, gripping your pencil tightly as you tried to split your brain between him and the teacher.

“There isn’t a relationship anymore. Drop it,” you hissed, resuming your writing. The lead strokes were much harsher and tore through the page. Even more furious, you tore the page out, crumpling it into your hands. They trembled with locked emotion.

“What happened?” Tendou complained. “You guys were like, perfect!”

“I don’t know what happened either,” you mumbled dully. Pricks of tears stung distantly, but you’d cried yourself out enough. 

The truth was that Ushijima didn’t seem like he was willing to give up volleyball for you; and although you’d said that you’d understood, it seemed that he had no more love to give to you in return for everything you had for him. You never asked him to drop his volleyball career entirely. You never asked him to skip out on practices or games for you. You’d never been selfish; all you’d asked was if there was a future with you and him without anything else in the portrait.

And he hadn’t said anything.

“Goddamit Tendou,” you growled accusatorily as the fresh tears sprung into your eyes. You stood and hurried out of the class, not bothering to excuse yourself. You held your sleeve to your eyes as you meandered into an empty stairwell, struggling to even out your breaths. It was futile as your lungs suddenly seized up, sobs escaping you like mangled poems the moment you thought of his face.

You were far too much in love for him to hurt you like this. 

Figuring it was useless to try to shut yourself up, you cried, loudly and in such an ugly fashion that you were 100% ashamed of yourself. A boy left you this much of a mess. A _boy_. How could you betray yourself like this? How could he—

Well, it was useless to think of him anyways, since he apparently didn’t think of you.

You jumped when the stairway doors opened. You hadn’t expected anybody to come by and scrambled to your feet, holding your breath to choke yourself up so that you could sneak away quietly. Your hand was on the door before a painfully familiar, low voice called down to you.

“Are you… all right?”

Your fingers closed into a fist and you turned around shakily, not wanting to see him—and then, seeing him standing there. His hands were in his pockets. You’d always remembered him being so stiff in the school uniform, but here he stood, cocking his head to the side as casual as any other. His sharp eyes traced a fat tear rolling down your nose.

“Just fine,” you spat to the ground, lowering your gaze. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You waited him to say his piece, but he seemed to be thinking. A spiteful part of you told you to just leave him there, but the bigger whole that still loved him begged you to stay. Pettiness lost and you shivered in the draft, hating yourself for wanting him to say it so badly—say _I was wrong and I love you_.

“I never wanted to see you like this,” he continued after a long silence. He came forwards a hesitant step, obviously gauging you to see if you’d flinch away or lash out. It felt like he was stalking down prey, waiting for it to jump away into the night. You stayed quiet. He came closer still until he could reach out, wiping your face with the end of his white jacket sleeve.

“Your… it’ll g-get… dirty,” you forced out past the hiccups, but made no move to push his large hand away. His touch was gentle on your skin and you started to cry harder, despite your attempts not to. Why were you like this around him? How could one boy tear you up and mould you like you were putty in his weathered hands? He sighed gently, the sound amplified in the tiny stairwell.

“Don’t worry about that.”

When he said nothing further, you scowled. You found the strength to muster together a few words, fuelled by anger,

“Well? What’ve you to say to me?” you snapped, stepping away.

“…that I miss you.” His dark golden eyes moved away from yours, turning away to find the right words to say. His hand, hovering in the air, returned to meet you. His unwavering fingers drifted down to your jaw to cradle your head, and your breaths were shallow as you kept trying to contain your idiotic bawling.

“So?” you managed. “So what?”

“I… made a mistake. I didn’t know what I wanted yet, but all I do know is that you have to be in it.” He stepped closer, wrapping you inside of a familiar embrace that you fell into far too quickly. You heard his heart in his chest, skipping faster than you would’ve expected it to. “I don’t know what I want and I don’t care. You just have to be there. And I’m going to be selfish and cruel, because I need you there, even if you don’t want to be. You have to.”

The graceless composure of his rambling told you that he was speaking out of desperation, as if he were racing against seconds. He thought you were going to run. His hold around you tightened and you realized he was making sure you couldn’t make an escape.

…as if you would.

“You idiot!” you wailed, landing a weak blow onto his arm. “You big fat moron! Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?! Don’t you know how _hurt_ I’ve been?”

“I as well,” he returned crossly, but then you felt him shake his head. “I’m sorry. Please accept my apol—”

“I don’t want you to be formal with me!” you blurted out, pushing him away. You knew you were a mess. You knew that you had snot glistening on your cupid’s bow, tears streaking your face, hair all over the place, dishevelled clothes—you knew all of these things. But you knew that Ushijima was the only one you trusted to see you so vulnerable, and despite this knowing, you had to be sure. You gave him another weak shove to emphasise your words, pushing him away so that you could glare down at your shoes.

“I don’t want you to be formal with me,” you repeated, trying to get out your point before another wave of sobs silenced you. “I want you to be _honest_. Tell me the truth. What do you want? From me?”

“I want _you_ ,” he replied without a beat of hesitation. He came forwards to close the gap again, something gleaming in his fiercely determined eyes. You never saw this much emotion in them before, and he gripped the ends of your sleeves so tightly that if they had been your hands, your fingers would’ve snapped. “I want _you_. All of you. Everything you have to give me, I want to take. I need you in my life. _That’s_ what I want.” He breathed shakily and let go slowly. His eyes lowered and you thought you saw them mist over for a mythical second. Ushijima had never cried in front of you, not once—not when he’d twisted and shot out his ankles, not when he’d popped joints or shattered bones—but you saw him take a sharp breath. Were you the only one he trusted to see him so vulnerable?

“If you hate me… I understand. But this is what I want from you.”

Suddenly, he sank to your eye level. You rarely saw him eye to eye like this and his every facial contour looked harshly defined in the sunlight, like raw lines of a marble statue. He sunk lower, and lower, and you looked down on him as he balanced on a knee.

“I want you.” He clasped a hand, making sure that you were anchored to him. He spoke so seriously that you got chills, trembling with each syllable. “I want your name. I want everything you have to give to me. Everything of yours… I want to damn God and take you—all of you. You are my greatest distraction… and you are my best. So please… give yourself to me.” His lips grazed your fingertips and he gazed up at you expectantly.

“I…?”

\---

“And _then_ what?!” your friend Ayane shrieked. She grabbed your left hand, slapping at it despite your attempts to pull away. “Where’s the ring? Ushijima’s probably got _loads_ , considering all the scholarships he’s been offered—”

“Ayane, you idiot! Don’t assume I said yes!” you scolded, jerking your hand back. She practically fainted as she leant forwards onto you.

“You… didn’t?”

“Are you kidding me?! I’m barely an adult! What makes you think I’m going to get married right now? I haven’t even graduated!”

“You said _no_ to him?!” she shouted gutturally, making you feel like somebody had forgotten to install a lower volume on her. She reached out and grabbed both of your shoulders, shaking you around. “How could you?! I thought you loved him!”

“I _do_!” you yelped, your vision spinning when she finally let you go. You cleared your head by shaking it and groaned, knocking her hands away as she reached to hit you. “I do love him, for Gods’ sake!”

“So why didn’t you say ‘yes’?!”

“I _told_ you. Neither of us are ready, and I didn’t want to screw our future lives up because of a spur in the moment thing. But we’ve made up. Things are fine now.”

“Things are—!? You turned down an engagement ring. I can’t believe you. I bet you wouldn’t have made me your bridesmaid anyways.” Ayane pulled on her dark cinnamon coloured hair, moaning despairingly like a cheap ghost. “I can’t believe you…”

“Cut it with the assumptions. I never said I didn’t have a ring.” You pulled a chain from around your neck, a simple band hanging on the miniature metal links. The circle spun lazily before you laid it on your hand protectively, the warmth of the metal enough to bring a gentle smile on your face. Your felt your heartbeat throb underneath your fingertips, resounding through the ring. 

“When I think we’re ready, I’ll say yes. 

But right now, things are good. And that’s enough.”

\---

“What’s this, what’s this? Wakatoshi-chan isn’t being all emo anymore!” Tendou chirped. Ushijima blinked, his arms halfway through his shirt as Tendou jumped in during the middle of his changing.

“I was never ‘emo’.” Ushijima’s nose crinkled with confusion as the rest of the boys noticed, Tendou’s loud voice carrying far.

“Yes you were,” Semi chimed in from the other side of the locker room, spraying himself down with deodorant. “You didn’t say a single word and you busted like, 3 windows in the span of one week.”

“4,” Ohira corrected, tying his shoelaces. “There was the one last Thursday.”

“Right.”

“That… those were accidents.” Ushijima turned back away, rummaging through his locker for a sports shirt. Tendou, impatient with waiting for him to finish, crossed his hands behind his head.

“It’s because of your girl, isn’t it? I guess we’ve got to thank her for saving the rest of our windows. It gets drafty in the gym now.”

“You love her that much, Ushijima?” Semi asked, suddenly serious for once. “I mean, I’ve never liked anybody as much as you seem to like her.”

Pulling a shirt over himself, he paused, a small smile sitting on his lips. Nobody else saw it, but he liked to think that wherever she was, she knew.

“Yes. I love her that much.”

“…disgusting,” Tendou added on after a short, stunned silence. But he said it fondly, and everybody carried on—Ushijima with a bit more of a gentleness to his countenance. 

Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Fighting with him never came often, and when it did, it was torrential—as storms rise from the east—but the sun always triumphs in the end. Like in a circle of a ring, you always found your way back to him.


	15. [xv] - wisteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!

“[Name]-chan?!”

You turned, surprised to hear your name in a foreign country—with familiar honourifics too—and your eyes immediately latched onto the bright red hair. An enormous grin spread out onto your face and suddenly you were engulfed in a tight hug, your feet dangling in the air as Tendou Satori hugged you tightly.

“Satori!” you yelped, after he’d set you down. You couldn’t help but stare, wondering how just a few years could change somebody so much. Still, his lopsided grin was the exact same, and you broke out with a huge smile. “It’s been ages! How’ve you been?”

“Working on my fourth year at uni. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! You’ve changed a lot.”

“In a good or bad way?” you asked with a teasing tone. His simpering, suddenly reeking with nostalgia, warmed your heart.

“Good, if I’m being generous. Nevermind us. You’re here for Wakatoshi, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You?” you asked, not having expected to see your high-school friend out of Asia, much less at the Olympic plaza in the Americas. He nodded.

“Of course I’d come to see my best friend play in the Olympics for Japan! You know what’s funny? That Oikawa of all people is setting. Talk about a blast from the past.”

“Right?” you agreed, “Wakatoshi was happy about that, but I heard training got rough some days.”

“Hey, you know who else is coming?” Tendou brought up, suddenly looking past you for some reason. You arched an eyebrow.

“Who?”

“Um, everybody.”

You turned and suddenly even more arms engulfed you. After you’d been freed from the flurry of reunion hugs, you recognized them one-by-one—Reon, Eita, Kenjirou, and even Tsutomu. You couldn’t help the rush of sentimental joy from bringing tears swimming to your eyes.

“I’ve missed you guys!” you cried out, “where’ve you all been?”

“We’ll tell you all about it later. I’m sure you’ve got the front-row seats, right, [Name]? Want to slide a few extra people in?” Tendou asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nudging you in the ribs. You rolled your eyes, but smiled, already excited to see Ushijima’s reaction. Although you doubted it’d be more expressive than a grin, you knew he’d be happy to see old friends and familiar faces in such a huge stadium.

“I’ll try my best.”

Suddenly, Tendou’s arm tightened around you. He hummed knowingly, his eyes narrowing, and you made an inquisitive face in response.

“So!” he said abruptly, “I’ve always thought Wakatoshi’s left-handedness was one of his best traits; but you? [Name]-chan, your left hand looks the best, I think.”

“What’re you on about, Tendou-san?” Goshiki asked, his thick eyebrows furrowing together. “What about her left hand?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted, feeling the giddy rush of warmth come to your cheeks. Shyly, you tried to hide your hand in your pocket. Goshiki nudged Tendou aside and squinted at your wrist, frowning.

“What about it?” he pressed again, evidently frustrated by not getting what everybody was grinning about. Taking your hand back out, you twisted the bands on your hands sheepishly.

“You didn’t even invite us? That’s cold, [Name]-chan,” Semi complained, but it was jokingly. You knew he was egging Goshiki on and you ran with it, shrugging light-heartedly.

“It was a private thing We actually haven’t really had one yet, but you guys are for sure on the guest list when things settle down properly.”

“Oi, what type of melons do you think Wakatoshi likes, [Name]?” Reon piped up, bluntly, mischief lining his lips. “Honeydew or cant _aloupe_?”

“Would you just tell me what’s going on?!” Goshiki fumed. At his side, Shirabu sighed touchily and palmed his forehead, as he would’ve back in high school.

“Are you blind as well as dumb, Goshiki?”

“[Name]-san!” he shouted, realizing that giving up on his teasing seniors was the best option for his pride. He large brown eyes appealed to you for help and you merely laughed, caving into his expression immediately. “Really, what’s going on?”

“We would have invited you to the wedding if there was one, but he was busy with practices for the Olympics. Maybe we’ll be more free this spring.” 

“What wedd— _oh_!” Goshiki gasped loudly. “You—and he—?!”

“You’ll never graduate at this rate! Did you even _finish_ highschool?! Dumbass!” Semi jibed, knocking Goshiki on the back of the head. Goshiki ignored the blow and took your hand, shaking it vigorously to express his congratulations. You couldn’t help but laugh again as everybody buzzed with admiration. You and Ushijima had practically tied the knot together the day you’d met, and the rings were really just a simple confirmation of it. You’d accused him of only doing it from being jealous that people might think you were on the market. Still, that one ‘yes’ had never come so easy before in your life.

The wedding could wait. Right now, you were surrounded by friends, and like your ring finger was constantly embraced by gold, you always had his love with you.

Finally making it to your seat, you realized that warm-ups had already started. The sound of volleyballs smashing against the hardwood floor reverberated around the gigantic gymnasium. There was a completely different energy than there was in high school. Despite the amount of people milling around, your eyes latched onto the back of his head easily. His broad shoulders were relaxed despite the eyes of the world weighing on him. As if he could feel you looking, he turned, his eyes gliding from yours to his ex-teammates. A thin, rare smile graced his features and he nodded. You nodded back.

And despite the fact that he rarely said it out loud, you knew it just by touching the rings to your lips:

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/1cbwrS


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